The Other Side of Things
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: A closer look at Beckett from a slightly different angle.


**Author's Note: **I happen to love writing evil characters with no redeemable traits and I happen to love asking myself "what if?" This fic is the result of a combination of the two. It is, in short, a character study of the newest villain, Beckett, from a slightly different angle. I normally try to keep my stories somewhat historically accurate, but I'll admit this story leaps over the bounds of the social and gender restrictions of the eighteenth century. So those of you that like historical accuracy (like I normally do) might not enjoy this fic. But if you can tolerate a little bit of AU mixed with the writings of my overactive imagination, this story is right up your alley! Either way, please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

**The Other Side of Things**

"How dare you!" Governor Swann pushed against the Marines, his eyes flying from his daughter to the cloaked figure that overlooked the destroyed wedding. Rage and fear battled within him. The mere sight of Elizabeth in her ruined wedding dress, standing in the driving rain while the guests looked on with curiosity and contempt made his pulse quicken to an unsteady cadence. Who would dare?

"Stand your men down at once!" He ordered, but despite his anger he found a tremor touch his voice. The short figure did not turn around. Swann wedged his shoulders between the two soldiers that held him back. "Do you hear me?"

The figure sighed and swiveled about. Swann took a step back. "Constance Beckett?"

"Her ladyship now, actually." She smiled and held out a single pale hand. "Does it always rain like this here? I had expected some drier weather. But oh no matter, it will do."

Her smile widened, pulling her features into a leer. She glanced at Swann and bobbed her head in a mock curtsey. "Governor Weatherby Swann, it's been too long."

The Governor glared back at her. His shock had melted back into fury. "Lady or no you have no authority to arrest this man."

Lady Beckett laughed, a high, childish sound. "In fact I do," she said. "Mr. Mercer! The warrant of arrest for one William Tuner. "

Mercer shuffled through his papers, his shoulders stooped to block out the driving rain. After a few tense minutes he produced a thin sheet of parchment and handed to over to the Governor.

Swann studied the writing. The rain had smudged the ink enough. His eyes found a name scrolled near the bottom and his heart lodged in his throat. He glanced at his daughter. "This…this warrant is for Elizabeth Swann."

Lady Beckett raised her eyebrows. She had a ruffled look about her, like a bird that preens and pulls at its feathers. With a liquid movement she adjusted her cloak and skirts. "Oh it is!" She tilted her head to the side and gazed at Elizabeth. "My dear, you must be Elizabeth Swann! You _have _grown since I last saw you. Do you remember me? In England of course. My, it's been so long."

"Fortunately, I can say I never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance," Elizabeth replied, her lips set in a grim line.

"So it seems. Arrest her!" A pair of Marines dashed forward at the order and seized Elizabeth.

Governor Swann stared in horror. "Constance please, you cannot mean to…"

"It's her ladyship. Have you forgotten my title already?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Please. My daughter's wedding…please," Swann hated to plead with her but his fear overrode any embarrassment.

"Congratulations!" Lady Beckett cried. She clapped her hands once and surveyed the sopping Elizabeth. "Who is the lucky bridegroom?" Her eyes landed on Will and she frowned. "Not him, I hope. My dear, his prospects aren't that good. In fact," She reached behind her for another document, "I have Mr. Turner's warrant for arrest. A pity, Miss Swann, you do look quite lovely in that dress."

"What are the charges?" Elizabeth growled, rain still slipping down her brow.

Lady Beckett ignored her. "And I have another one for a Mister James Norrington. Mister Norrington, are you present?" She craned her thin neck and scanned the crowds that pressed upon the Marines. "Mister Norrington?"

"Commodore Norrington resigned his commission some months ago," Governor Swann interrupted.

"That isn't much help to me, sir. Where can I find him? You haven't answered my question!" Her voice grew hard, losing its delicate air to be replaced with something much colder, much more deadly. "Where is Norrington? If you think you can hide him…"

"Lady Beckett," Will broke in, his tone just bordering on civility. "In the category of questions not answered…"

Governor Swann clenched his jaw. The young blacksmith had always been impulsive, rash.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the King's governor of Port Royal, and you will tell us what we are charged with," Elizabeth said. She raised her head and looked Lady Beckett in the eye. Even though the other woman was many years older, Elizabeth stood much taller.

Lady Beckett tilted her head to the other side. "Saucy little thing aren't you. Maybe you two deserve each other after all. But as to what you are charged with…"

"The charge... is conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire, and condemned to death, for which the…" Governor Swann could not finish. His eyes fixed on the parchment blurred with tears/ A lead weight had dropped into his stomach. Dear God, how could…

"For which the punishment, regrettably, is also death. Yes, yes, a sordid business it is." Lady Beckett said with a sigh. Her patience seemed to have spent itself. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate named Jack Sparrow."

"Captain!" Both Elizabeth and Will shouted in unison.

Lady Beckett laughed once more looking pleased with herself. "Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes, I thought you might."

* * *

Lady Beckett had a reputation for playing with people. She liked to watch them, dissecting any emotion that passed over their faces, storing any tidbit in her mind for later use or enjoyment. She understood the desperate and could find cowardice lurking amongst the brave. And then, with a deft art she had acquired, she would draw them to her. Her hands stretched over the chessboard of life to move a pawn a square ahead and laugh when a knight fell upon the poor fool.

No one rightly bothered with Lady Beckett, unless they thought they had something to gain. And even these men fell to her, swiftly, quietly and fatally.

Will paid heed to all this as he stepped into her office, the bright Caribbean sun falling through the windows in shafts. Unlike Elizabeth her ladyship had to be in her thirties and unlike Elizabeth her smile dripped with poison. This woman had been smoothed over by life's experiences.

"Mr. Turner, lovely to see you again." She rose from her chair behind the desk. Her dress was more opulent than understated. Lady Beckett had arrayed herself in red silk with white lace dusting her collar and sleeves. Will thought she looked like a spider nestled in a web. Her hair had been powdered and done up with a gold bauble that shifted every time she moved. And her face. It looked deceptively delicate, too masterful to be innocent.

Will shifted. Shackles chafed his wrists just below the gold braid on his cuffs. Lady Beckett noticed his discomfort.

"Those aren't necessary." She gestured to the guard. "Remove them at once. I daresay the boy has the decency to conduct himself as a gentleman."

"Unfortunately there is no lady present," he said as the shackles were slipped from his wrists. The guard paused and gave him a warning look. But Lady Beckett smiled.

"Never mind that, now. I need not remind you, Mr. Turner, that you are in no position to be haughty with me. Tea?" She moved back towards her desk and Will watched her every move.

"No thank you."

Lady Beckett poured herself a glass of crimson wine but offered him none. "The East India Trading Company has need of your services." She paced before him, the edge of her gown whispering against the wooden floorboards. "We wish for you to act as our agent in a business transaction with our mutual friend: Captain Sparrow."

"More acquaintance than friend. How do you know him?" Will asked. She paused by the grand fireplace and lifted a brand from the hearth. The letter "P" burned bright even in the light of the office.

"We've had dealings in the past. And we've each left our mark... on the other." Lady Beckett tucked the brand back amongst the embers and took a sip of her wine.

Will raised his eyebrows, allowing himself a small smile of his own. "It was you then, it was you who branded him."

"Yes. But I will admit Sparrow took it without flinching. He seemed almost proud of it." She chuckled, as if amused at some private joke of her own.

"And what mark did he leave on you?"

She swept across the room, her skirt whipping against his feet. "Nothing of great importance or interest, I assure you. But don't think you can distract me from the matter at hand with frivolous topics. I am a woman of business." Lady Beckett turned and drew closer to him. Will closed his eyes for an instant. The scent of her perfume overwhelmed him. It clogged his nostrils, smothering and bewildering him. He felt ill.

"You will cooperate with me, I know," she said. Her voice crept into his ear with a wicked whisper. But the harshness of it sent a tremor up his spine.

Will flicked his tongue over his dry lips and took a deep breath. "If you think you may charm me, Lady Beckett, you are quite mistaken."

"Charm you! Ha!" The sudden bark of laughter made him jump. "I wouldn't waste my time on the likes of you. You are much too young." She drew back towards her desk. "Tell me, have you ever heard of Agrippina the Elder? No, I don't suppose so. After all, you have the education of a simple blacksmith."

"The wife of Germanicus, the mother of the emperor Caligula," Will said. He enjoyed the shock that spread over her face.

"Very good, you know your Romans after all. She was one of the most powerful and prominent women of her time and…"

"And I suppose you wish to compare yourself with her?" Will asked. "Why is it that those who are cruel wish to liken themselves to great historical figures? Do you think that masks your wrongdoing?"

A furious look stole over her face and for a brief moment her control slipped. "I have no need for your morals!" she cried. Will regretted his words at once. She stalked up and down her office, flicking her hands out to the side in great annoyance. But then, as quickly as she had lost control she regained.

"You talk of morals whilst both you and your fiancée are charged with crimes against the crown. I find that strange. Miss Swann is a vixen, mark my words. Her innocence is a hypocritical veil of delusion. Her own cunning, once put to the test, could easily match mine."

"You know nothing of us," Will said. He could hear the anger rising in his voice.

She tilted her head to the side. "And you know absolutely nothing of me. Does that frighten you?"

Will said nothing.

"By your efforts Jack Sparrow was set free," Lady Beckett continued. Her businesslike air had returned. "I would like you to go to him, and recover a certain property in his possession."

"Recover. At the point of a sword?" Will folded his hands behind his back and stared at her. She ignored him and returned to her desk.

"Bargain! Don't you know anything of bargaining, Turner?" She sat in her chair, a cloud of red silk billowing about her tiny frame. Her hands lit on a wooden box and she slid the lid back, revealing a packet of letters. "I have here Letters of Marque. You will offer what amounts to a full pardon. Jack will be free, a privateer in the employ of England."

"Somehow I doubt Jack will consider employment the same as being free." Will's face grew hard.

"Freedom!" Lady Beckett spat. She tossed her head, powder from her hair coating the air. "Freedom is overrated, Mr. Turner, I assure you. Jack Sparrow is a dying breed. The world is shrinking, the blank pages of the map filled in. Jack must find his place in the new world or perish. Not unlike you, Mister Turner. You and your fiancée face the hangman's noose."

"So you get both Jack and the _Black Pearl_?"

She snorted. "I want neither! A drunken pirate and a rotten ship? No, the item in question is considerably smaller and far more valuable. Something Sparrow keeps on his person at all times. A compass."

Will felt his throat tighten. Jack's compass? What could she want with that? It seemed like a trivial thing, but then again…

"You are familiar with it then," Lady Beckett said. A smile crept upon her countenance. "I assume we have an accord?"

* * *

Elizabeth watched Lady Beckett cross the floor of office. From where she stood hidden, she could see her ladyship's every move. She wore a long dressing gown and her dark hair fell about her shoulders. Elizabeth tightened her grip on her pistol, feeling a stream of sweat trickle down her brow. The Letters of Marque were clutched in her right hand.

Lady Beckett paused and tapped her fingertips on the wooden box placed on her desk. Elizabeth felt her breath hitch. The lid was crooked. So much for making it out undetected.

"I told your fiancé that you were a vixen," Lady Beckett said, her voice carrying through the room. "He didn't believe me, of course. Men are so foolish, aren't they?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath and stepped into the pool of light that radiated from a candle on a side table.

"I expect then that we can come to some sort of understanding. Woman speaking to woman. I'm here to negotiate."

"You have nothing to say to me, Miss Swann," she said. Elizabeth raised her pistol and pointed it at her forehead. "But I am in a generous mood. I shall spare you a moment of my time."

"You call me a vixen and yet I find you to be the harshest woman a person could ever cross," Elizabeth said. She studied her adversary's face for a flicker of emotion, a sign of human decency. She saw nothing.

"Really? Am I that bitter to you?" Lady Beckett asked.

"I would say you were left at the altar yourself."

"Ah, yes, a woman scorned. But no, I was married."

"You were? Did you push him off a cliff perhaps?"

"No. He fell from his horse and broke his neck. Though it wasn't much of a loss either way. He did, however, leave me a large fortune which I invested very, very wisely." Lady Beckett's shoulders straightened and she gazed at Elizabeth with an arrogance that belied genteel pride.

Elizabeth knew she was being mocked, tested. Lady Beckett would jab at her and wait with baited breath to see if she too would demean herself to argue over the matter. But Elizabeth also knew that if she wished to quit her ladyship's presence without bodily harm, she'd have to hold her tongue.

She satisfied herself with a critical stare. "So it would seem. But consider into your calculations that you've robbed me of my wedding night. I am in no mood to bandy about cruel remarks with you."

"Very well." Lady Beckett regarded Elizabeth languid eyes. "But consider into your calculations that I have your father in my custody."

Elizabeth flinched, feeling the cold butt of the pistol dig into her palm. Taking a steady breath, she struggled to keep the fear out of her voice. "What does that matter?"

"Have you ever sent the effect the cat'o'nine tails has upon flesh?"

"You would never lash a royal governor. The King would have your head."

"Clever." Amusement fluttered in Lady Beckett's eyes. "You called my bluff. But I can imprison a suspected traitor and hang his daughter for her own crimes."

"You wouldn't dare," Elizabeth ground out.

"My dear, you don't know me quite well enough to start assuming what I would or wouldn't dare to do. I can hang you. If you were smart you would put down that pistol and return to your ceil without a fuss and I might pretend none of this ever happened."

"You were set to hang Will and me anyway. What does it matter if I cooperate or not?"

"Did I say hang already?" The woman tapped a finger on her jaw. "Hmm, I shall have to change it to having you both drawn and quartered."

"I suspect, my lady," Elizabeth said calmly,"that you think you will frighten me with your talk of torture and disembowelment. But I have been to the Isla de Muetra, I have seen the treasure for myself. There is something you need to know."

Lady Beckett's eyebrows darted up and her face grew shrewd. "Allow me to invoke the old saying. All that glitters is not gold. Cursed Aztec gold is not to my liking. So perhaps you may wish to enhance your offer."

Elizabeth felt rage erupt inside her, coursing through her veins like poison, slow and sickening. She cocked her pistol. "Sign the document. _You _don't know me quite well enough to assume what I am capable of."

Lady Beckett continued to stare at Elizabeth, her lips set in a waxy line. "Liar."

"Sign the document!" Elizabeth touched the pistol to the woman's throat.

"Very well." Lady Beckett's hands moved over the parchment, revealing a tight signature. "You've called my bluff and now I call yours. You are a liar and deceiver Miss Swann and will be so until the end, however that may come about."

After heating a stick of sealing wax over the dying flame of a candle, she pressed her seal onto the paper. "You have what you came for, but remember, I still want that compass."

* * *

Residing in the Caribbean was an expensive proposition. Oils and creams and powders had to be imported for smoothing the skin and chasing away the lines of age. Fashionable parasols had to be bought to shield the face from the sun's harsh rays. Silk was stored like aging wine, used for dresses only when the social season demanded it. Lady Beckett decided she liked England better, a place where she could array herself in elegance and court gentlemen suitors at ease. This Caribbean business, however, weighed on her purse.

She drew the mirror closer, inspecting her skin in the harsh afternoon light that flittered into her office. Running her fingers through her hair, she noticed it had lost its luster, its sheen dried away by the heat. She cursed and flipped the mirror off her desk. The resounding clatter and shattering glass did little to her improve her mood.

Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner had disappeared. Jack Sparrow could not be found.

Lady Beckett frowned, running her tongue along her teeth. Turner she had expected to be stupid enough to go after the compass like a gentleman. Swann she had expected to be devious enough to get it by her own means. And Sparrow, well, she did not know what to expect of him.

In the end, however, she remained empty handed. Lady Beckett reached for her glass of wine, no longer chilled but warm like blood. Tilting the glass back, she let the red liquid stain her lips and trickle down her throat. Her mother had always scolded her for her drinking excesses, but Lady Beckett thought it to be one of her lesser sins.

The door opened and Mercer stepped in. His somber black garb stood out in the colorful array of fabrics sported by most gentlemen in the tropics. But then again, it wasn't his job to look fashionable. He side-stepped the broken mirror lying on the floor and kept his eyes fixed just over her shoulder. Lady Beckett felt rage coiling in her chest. The news would not be good.

"The last of our ships has returned," Mercer said, clearing his throat as he spoke so that his words became ruffled.

Lady Beckett lay down her glass and spread her fingertips over her desk. "Is there any news on the chest? Anything at all?"

"None." Mercer still wouldn't meet her gaze. Despite being a fearsome man in his own right, she knew he was frightened of her. And with good reason.

Lady Beckett flung her glass across the room. It left a trail of wine in its wake, some landing upon Mercer's coat sleeve. He didn't move.

"A fine predicament we have ourselves in," she spat. "Jack Sparrow must be laughing himself half to death at our expense."

"Not the last time I saw him." A voice, deep, cold, but not without dignity sounded from across the room. Lady Beckett suddenly realized that another, rather disheveled man stood just inside the doorway flanked by two guards.

"But one of the ships did pick up a man adrift at sea," Mercer said. "He had these." The Letters of Marque were placed on the desk before her. Lady Beckett took them in hand, inspecting them with a cautious eye. A name graced the bottom of one.

"I took the liberty of filling in my name," the scruffy man said. He wore a challenging smile.

"Quite a liberty indeed," Lady Beckett replied, staring at him. He did not look away. "If you intend to claim these, then you must have something to trade. Do you have the Compass?"

"Better." His smile widened as he tossed a bag on the desk. The stench overwhelmed her, rotting flesh drenched in seawater. "The heart of Davey Jones."

Lady Beckett watched as the bag quivered and a dull thumping sound filled the room. After a moment she lifted her eyes back to the man. "It's a true gentleman that brings a woman such a gift," she said.

"The least I could do, my dear lady." He bowed, his muscles remembering a social function exercised in a past life.

He was handsome and still dashing despite the tattered state of his clothes. But best of all, he was desperate, willing to cling to her for a promotion and the restoration of his former life. Lady Beckett smiled. Yes, James Norrington would do nicely.

**Author's Note: **Yes, I am fully aware a woman couldn't be in charge of the East India Trading Company, but I enjoyed writing this piece anyway for the fun of it. Any grammatical or spelling errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. I apologize for not catching them during revision. Please review! Thanks for reading!


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